“I DON’T like grandma at all,” said Fred,
“I don’t like grandma at all,”
And he drew his face in a queer grimace;
The tears were ready to fall,
As he gave his kitten a loving hug,
And disturbed her nap on the soft, warm rug.
“Why, what has your grandma done?” I asked,
“To trouble the little boy?
O what has she done, the cruel one,
To scatter the smiles of joy?”
Through quivering lips the answer came,
“She—called—my—kitty—a—horrid—name.”
“She did? are you sure?” and I kissed the tears
Away from the eyelids wet.
“I can scarce believe that grandma would grieve
The feelings of either pet.
What did she say?” “Boo-hoo!” cried Fred,
“She—called—my—kitty—a—quadruped!”
—Selected.